


Hush

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fanfiction, Genre: PWP, M/M, Rating: NC-17 - Freeform, character: bluestreak, character: hotrod, smut: sticky, verse: g1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> A  request fill.  The request can be found <b> <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11772382">here</a> </b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Sticky Smut  
>  **Notes:** I sat on this, trying to decide just how I wanted to do the scene for a few months, and then when I finally sat down to write it, scrapped everything, when with a completely different mech that originally intended (thank you, NK!) and I’m REALLY glad I did. I think this is more amusing and eve kinda cute than sexy, but I hope it’s enjoyed! Thank you, OP for the prompt!

**Title:** Hush  
 **‘Verse:** G1  
 **Series:** None  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Pairings:** Hot Rod/Bluestreak

 

**The Prompt**

_In all the fics I've read Bluestreak talks during sex(interface whatever). Even if it's sexy/encouraging/dirty ect he talks even during sex._

_I want to see him quite._  
Maybe he's intent on his partner, maybe he's focused on the sensations, maybe a thousand other things. But I want to see Bluestreak silent during intercourse. Not just wordless but quite, he doesn't scream or cry-out or moan loudly. It's all breathless whimpers and quite panting and hitches in breath. Arching and encouraging petting.  
Nothing more or louder then quietly a spoken name during the beginning of foreplay and/or in the afterglow, at least on Bluestreaks part. 

_*I have a guilty preference for it to be written from 3rd or partners p.o.v. (-but blues can be just as good)_  
*I do not want Bluestreak ever to get loud  
*I want Bluestreak to be his normal, chatty, stream-of-conscious self at all other times. 

_Bonus: if -a) if partner is long term lover and knows what to expect and his thoughts on it, especially if Bluestreaks muted but passionate reactions really turn them on.  
\- or b) if it's a new lover or one night stand, their reaction to the surprise._

_(even with all the lewd jokes tossed around about ways to make Blue quite no one really truly thinks he'd be quite during sex)_

 

**Hush**

 

“-was like, ‘No, _I’ll_ rip _your_ wings off!’”

Hot Rod laughed as Bluestreak giggled. He really wasn’t following the story very well, but then it kept changing subjects. Hot Rod figured it was Bluestreak’s fault he was lost, not his own.

This time.

“Oh! Oh! Then there was this one time-”

Hot Rod nodded along. Primus. The rumors were right, the mech was going to talk his audials into glitching even as they ‘faced.

“Here’s my door!” Bluestreak said, keying in his code. “Ratchet was so mad at Sideswipe for that, I thought he was going to blow a gasket. I mean, you can hardly blame Ratch, ya know? How the slag many times is Sides going to get his arm ripped off anyways? If I were Ratchet, I’d be sick of reattaching it too. There’s a betting pool on whether he really will beat Sides with his own arm next time he loses it.

“Oh! That totally reminds me of the time Wheeljack lost his… You know, I don’t remember what it was called.”

Hot Rod followed Bluestreak into his quarters, standing, helm tilted slightly as the mech waved a hand, and kept talking.

“Whatever he called it, it was supposed to help clean the rust off the Ark easier, but it went missing from his lab, and at first we all suspected the ‘Cons. I mean, Red Alert has fits about it, but he’s not wrong. Those Casseticons get in here like, every other week.”

Bluestreak handed Hot Rod a cube of what couldn’t be anything other than high grade, then sat on the side of his berth, gesturing for Hot Rod to join him. Hot Rod sipped carefully, momentarily startled. Slagging Pits, _high grade_! And just _handed_ to him like it was nothing. He was tempted not to drink it, just save it and use it for bartering later.

Of course, if the Earth team had so much excess energon that high grade was nothing, then they would probably be sending some back to Cybertron. The value would go down. Bluestreak might be insulted too.

Hot Rod took another sip, smiling as he looked back at Bluestreak, trying to figure out the topic since he’d missed the last transition. 

“-and Bumblebee had no idea how to respond to _that_!” Bluestreak laughed. “I mean can you just imagine? Talk about weird battle tactics, though Prowl said it wouldn’t be ‘wise’,” he held up his hands, index and middle fingers curling down in a strange, brief gesture, “to tell the ‘Cons that they should run because if we catch them, we’ll kiss them. I think Sideswipe took that as a dare though, because his jet judo’s avoided even more by Skywarp and Thundercracker, and Prime can’t prove anything yet, but there’ve been a few lectures about how even kissing an unwilling partner is not any more acceptable than ‘facing one.”

Hot Rod just sipped at his energon and listened, waiting for a chance to get a word in edgewise, but that didn’t look likely. He decided to dive in, grabbing at the topic being interfacing as a good enough segue to _their_ interfacing. He reached out with his free hand, sliding it down Bluestreak’s arm. “I’d rather ‘face pretty Autobots.”

Bluestreak smiled brightly, shifting closer. “Oh definitely. I mean that’s why we’re here, right? Oh wait! Are you saying I’m pretty? That’s sweet, I mean I suppose I’m not ugly or anything, but I’m not as attractive as Sunstreaker or Tracks-”

Hot Rod leaned in, stopping the torrent of words the easiest way he could. With his mouth. Bluestreak reacted instantly to the kiss, returning it and giving a soft little hum. He pulled back after a moment, taking Hot Rod’s cube and setting it aside with his own on a small table next to the berth.

“Don’t want those to spill,” Bluestreak smiled. “There was this time-”

What worked once, might work again, Hot Rod thought, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Bluestreak’s shoulders. He covered Bluestreak’s mouth with his own, smiling as Bluestreak did and snickered a little. The kiss quickly turned hotter, chest plating rubbing together with a metallic hiss. Hot Rod pushed, testing, but Bluestreak just fanned his doorwings out and laid back.

Hot Rod grinned, nipping lightly at Bluestreak’s lips before working his way down to his neck. He expected the words to start right back up, but only got a hissed, “Yes.”

Not really one for foreplay -seriously, he was lucky to get laid at all by his team, so he dare not waste time getting to the fun- Hot Rod slid a hand down Bluestreak’s side, in over his pelvic armor, and firmly cupped his interface hatch. He could feel the heat against his palm. The little hitch in Bluestreak’s vents was hotter than melted slag too.

Hot Rod’s spike pushed against the inner surface of his panel, pressurized and ready to go. “Open up,” he whispered, and bit Bluestreak’s neck. He could feel the _click_ against his hand and wasn’t able to keep his own panel shut any longer.

Bluestreak squirmed a little, optics shutting as his panel opened and hips lifted. Hot Rod purred, aft lifting so he could sink his spike in. He was careful, went a bit slow since her didn’t know whether Bluestreak liked it rough yet or not. A full-bodied shiver ran through Bluestreak as Hot Rod pushed his spike in. He slowed down even more just to watch, still waiting for the babbling to start back up.

It didn’t.

Bluestreak’s mouth was open a little, chin lifted, optics still shut. He sighed as Hot Rod’s array pressed against his. Hot Rod was… fascinated. And turned on. A lot. Now that was a sex face! Not overload, but… Damn.

“You’re fraggin’ hot!”

Bluestreak’s optics peeped open, a deep sapphire blue glowing in a thin wedge as a coy little smile curved his lips. His hips rolled up, and Hot Rod gasped as his spike was worked in a rolling squeeze.

Oh frag! That was some _good_ valve control there.

Hot Rod gave into the urge to move, moaning as his spike was gripped and kneaded. Bluestreak’s optics had fallen shut again, and Hot Rod found himself rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts just to watch his face.

He kept waiting for the talking to start too. _Everybody_ joked about how Bluestreak never stopped talking. Even _Bluestreak_! There had been plenty of laughing comments about him babbling right through interfacing too. Bluestreak hadn’t been around to confirm or deny that, but Hot Rod had a kink for dirty talk. A kink that he didn’t get fulfilled hardly ever. He’d been hoping that Bluestreak would be into it.

Well, ok. He sure _looked_ into it, but he wasn’t talking. Hot Rod really wasn’t that good. At least, he didn’t figure he was. He really didn’t get to ‘face much with others, and when he did they hardly ever let him do the spiking, but Bluestreak really looked like he was liking it. Hot Rod found himself changing angles, alternating the speed, depth and power of his thrusts just to see what would happen. See if he could get Bluestreak to break into a babbled discourse about how awesome Hot Rod’s spike felt tunneling into his slick valve. Or maybe how it was the best he’d had, and thick and the perfect length…

Hot Rod moaned again, forcing himself to slow back down. Bluestreak’s hands tightened on his shoulders for a moment, knees pulling higher and hips bucking for more. He pulled, fingers clenching, then sliding into armor gaps that sent a nice rush of sensation through Hot Rod. Hot Rod pushed himself up so he could look down at the gunner better. It forced his spike deeper, and Bluestreak’s lips parted into the sexiest little breathless whimper ever.

Hot Rod knew he was overthinking. Who _thought_ while interfacing anyways? But he had the sudden realization that this was epic. Amazing. He didn’t normally even think much about his interfacing partner because he needed to focus so he could get his valve systems to overload, but this was actually getting _him_ off. More than just the charge lighting up every node of his spike, just _watching_ was hot!

Bluestreak’s respiration rushed in and out in panting gusts of heated air. Hot Rod reached down to pull one leg even higher and smirked a bit as the gunner arched his neck and gasped. He ground in deep, rocking their arrays together, and Bluestreak gave a soft mewling sound.

Tingling heat rippled through Hot Rod. Pressure was building at the base of his spike, but he tried to ignore it. He wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. He wanted the gunner loud. He wanted him screaming. He wanted him shouting his name so that everyone nearby heard and would want him too. But he wasn’t doing any of that yet, so they couldn’t be done.

Bluestreak writhed, back arcing up off the berth, his doorwings giving off these little trembling flutters, then he’d curve back down, hips pushing up against Hot Rod’s. His valve squeezing in a rolling wave that pulled against the spike on the backstroke, and breathy, airy-soft, barely there cries gasped out with every thrust Hot Rod made.

But he was just so _quiet_ about it!

Hot Rod pushed harder, pumped his spike faster, deeper into Bluestreak, but nothing. Well, not really nothing. Bluestreak’s hands were everywhere. They clutched at Hot Rod’s shoulders, kneaded down his sides. Fingers dipped under armor to twist and tug at wires and cables. He gripped Hot Rod’s waist and pulled him into each thrust, urging him on physically while never making a sound loud enough to wake a mech across the room -had one been there.

Hot Rod’s vents were running fast, jaw clenched tight as pleasure bolted down low in his belly. He growled, clinging to his quickly unraveling control so he could throw the gunner over first. He had a moment’s rush of pride as Bluestreak suddenly locked up, back arched, doorwings trembling against the berth. His mouth opened, and Hot Rod thought, _finally_ , but no. Bluestreak’s frame was wracked by a strong shiver as his valve clamped tight around Hot Rod’s spike.

That was it for Hot Rod. He shouted, hips pistoning into the gripping heat. Sharp moans escaped him with every pulsing jet of transfluid he pumped into Bluestreak until he collapsed over the gunner, breathing hard and feeling good.

Bluestreak sighed, and warm air brushed over Hot Rod’s audial as he wound his arms around him to trail a finger lazily along the bright yellow spoiler. Hot Rod pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed down at the gunner. Bluestreak smiled serenely back, looking a little sleepy and a lot sated.

“Not what I was expecting,” Hot Rod said.

Bluestreak blinked, light petting pausing. “It wasn’t?”

Hot Rod shook his helm. “You kinda talk a lot.”

A snicker. “Oh. That.” Bluestreak gave another light chuckle. “I dunno, ya know? I know I talk a lot, and I don’t mind when someone tells me to shut up, and they do pretty often, really, but I have all these thoughts in my head, but when I’m interfacing it all sorta just goes away, and you were really good!”

Hot Rod was reminded of the fact they were still connected when Bluestreak’s valve did another of those incredible ripple-squeeze-knead rolls. He gasped, but the gunner relaxed again, giggling quietly. He squirmed as he launched back into chattering on, so Hot Rod reluctantly pulled away, but not too far. He liked sticking close when able, and Bluestreak had said he was really good. He hoped that got around, but no way was he letting slip how quiet the mech was while interfacing. Clearly Bluestreak wasn’t sharing that information either, and Hot Rod rather liked knowing that the next time someone started cracking jokes, he’d just be able to sit there and smile smugly.

Bluestreak reached for the energon, handing Hot Rod his cube. Sitting up and tuning back in, Hot Rod grinned as the babbling ran on uninterrupted.

“-from Ratchet. You gotta watch out with the stuff Wheeljack or Sideswipe brew. That slag’ll knock you offline, or make you wish you were knocked offline. I don’t know how they can stand it! Ratchet bitches at them too, and says he won’t be replacing their fuel tanks when the ‘high grade’,” Bluestreak made that funny little hand gesture again, “eats through them. And it really can too! Prowl made Cliffjumper scrub rust once for punishment detail and the cleaner was Jack’s latest recipe for high grade. I’ve never seen walls that shiny, and Cliffjumper was drunk off just the fumes, which isn’t as good a thing as you’d think. He can be mean when cratered. This one time-”

Hot Rod snickered, sipping at the non-corrosive, Ratchet-made, tasty-sweet high grade, and really listened to Bluestreak now. Mech was a well of information and gossip and stories that, while not as embellished as Kup’s, were pretty entertaining.

“Oh, so you wanna stay? I don’t have shift until midmorning, so we could probably do it again if you wanted to, and I don’t really flop around much in my recharge.” Bluestreak flicked his doorwings. “These kinda get in the way. Oh! Hahah! So this one time-”

More interfacing? Snuggled up recharge with the sexy mech on a comfy berth? Pit, _yes_ , Hot Rod was staying. He made himself comfortable, and started asking questions as Bluestreak rambled. Mechs didn’t even know what they were missing.

~ | ~

**([Table of Contents](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/6214.html) ) ******


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